Even from outside the Circus, the noise is a deep, continuous roar, like the rumble of a waterfall or the buzz of a colossal beehive. It’s the sound of three hundred thousand people waiting for their favorite charioteers.
“Are we late?” I ask.
“No. People arrive early to make sure no one takes their seats. Most of them have been drinking for hours,” Neris mutters next to me. “Godsdamned security nightmare.”
“At least it’s not our problem,” Micah says. “It’s Nistor’s.”
I’d almost forgotten the wardens belong to Sigilkeeper Drugov Nistor. The city wardens were allegedly created to protect everyday citizens from crime and violence. In the Thorn, I’ve only ever seen them going door-to-door and demanding protection payments from business owners.
From Micah’s sneer, he’s not exactly impressed by them either.
I follow the imperiums as they walk around the back of the stadium, and Tiernon opens a door, gesturing for me to follow the others inside.
The sound of the crowd surges toward me, anticipation thick in the air. Almost every stone seat is already filled, spectators wearing the colors of their favorite charioteers.
The greens are made up of mundanes. Since charioteers are forbidden from using power, the Circus is the one place where mundanes can truly compete with vampires and sigilmarked, and when green charioteers win, the people of Senthara celebrate for days.
I’d never imagined I’d get to see the races. Years ago, Gerith went through a stage where he was obsessed with charioteers, and even built his own chariot—with little more than a few discarded boxes. He usedone of my belts as a whip, which he waved in the air while Evren pretended to commentate the race.
“Something amusing?” Tiernon asks.
The smile falls from my face, and I shake my head. It’s the kind of story I would have told him if we had kept in touch all this time. If he’d left me a letter, maybe written occasionally. My heart would still have been broken, but it might have healed by now.
I know what I’m doing. Playing cards with him again brought up all kinds of memories of arguing over who was winning. Of harmless flirting that turned to more. Of cards thrown to the floor as he scooped me over his shoulder, hauling me to bed. So I’m shutting those emotions down, locking the doors on those memories and ensuring Tiernon can’t hurt me yet again.
It’s part punishment, part self-defense.
Emotions flicker across Tiernon’s face—almost too quickly for me to catch. But I do see the disappointment. And the bitterness.
My stomach twists and I turn away. We’re positioned next to the emperor’s pulvinar, where Nyrant stands waiting, along with four other imperiums I haven’t formally met. From here, I’ll be able to watch the emperor, but more importantly, I’ll be able to study his security. Knowing I took Maeva’s spot on the imperius makes my stomach churn. But I won’t waste it. Below us, the immense track is a ribbon of ochre dust, with at least a hundred mundanes sweeping the track, painstakingly searching for stray stones and rocks that could tip a chariot wheel. It’s the kind of task that could easily be completed with power.
Gold statues of Umbros create a central barrier down the middle of the track—each at least thirty feet tall—while hundreds of aether lamps float in the air. The light flickers along the oversize, ornate jeweled crowns, necklaces, and bracelets adorning the gold statues.
Tiernon’s eyes turn cold. “My father has just raised taxes again this year.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard him speak a bad word about the emperor. So far, he has been very, very careful not to say anything that could even be misconstrued as criticism.
I turn my attention back to the jewels, my stomach curdling. Each time taxes are raised, life in the Thorn becomes even more difficult. Still, being too poor to afford tickets to the races meant most of us were spared the sight of the emperor’s opulence so blatantly flaunted.
The emperor enters his pulvinar, and the crowd roars loud enough to make my ears ring. He raises his hand, a wide smile on his face. Tiernon immediately makes his way to his father.
I wrap my cloak tighter around me as a chill seeps into my bones. Vampires don’t feel the cold. The emperor’s open-air Circus and arena is just one more taunt to the sigilmarked.
Micah takes Tiernon’s place. “How did you get so good at cards?”
He’s the only imperium who has spoken to me since Rorrik declared I would join. The others have coolly ignored my existence.
“You’re really still thinking about the game?”
Micah’s eyes turn to slits and I laugh. “I learned how to play young, and I used the skill to gamble in the kinds of taverns I had no business frequenting. When I was older, I was a bodyguard, which taught me to be meticulously observant. I had to pay close attention to the person I was guarding,andeveryone in the vicinity at the same time, since anyone could be a threat.”
“Even the smallest change of expression or body language could mean bad news for your client,” Micah says, and I nod.
“It’s reactive.”
“Do you think you could teach me?”
“To bodyguard?”
